Internal Cracked Eggs

This Egg has been cracked while in the Oviduct of the hen.

Weird things happen to eggs while they are in the Oviduct of the chicken. I’ve posted a lot of photos of weird eggs but this one is one of the weirdest I think.

The hen who laid this egg got a heck of a jolt while the egg was making its way down the oviduct. A jolt hard enough to break the egg while the shell was forming. The hens body went ahead and patched the shell for her before it was laid. That is not always the case actually…

With hens, an egg cracking inside can be certain death. When this happens, if it’s not expelled by the hen, but is stuck inside, peritonitis usually kills the bird fairly quickly. You can look up peritonitis in the internet easily. It’s a nasty situation.

That is not the case with this lucky bird!  She is still laying those cracked eggs though…  I’m puzzled as to what is happening. I think I have an idea, but not certain if that’s the problem. I have one nest which is really high off the ground. The girls love that nest. I think she’s too heavy for the job of staying in the nest when others want in. She hops down before she has laid her egg, and it’s getting cracked before it’s out. Evidently, it’s not so badly cracked that the body can’t mend it when it happens.

Here’s what happens inside while in the laying process.

 I’m still learning on my journey, and I do like to share with you what I learn…

♥Chicken Mom♥

Amazed Disgusted and Shocked

July 19, 2014

Amazed Disgusted and Shocked I need to warn you in advance, this is not for the faint of heart, OK? If you get squeamish easily, ya best click off and leave now.

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Putting off the chicken coop cleaning was done for long enough! I’d fiddle-farted around most of the spring and the spiders and icky stuff was beginning to get to me (Insert disgusted face here (Really I wish I had one of those “insert face here” on this blog-post editor!).

Weekly, one needs to clean the shavings of poop, and then do general maintenance, of raking, picking up random bits of trash and god-knows-what, that the hens dig up in the yard. Then you have to clean up the storage area of the stuff you thought you wanted to keep and now find you can surely do without.

It’s all good, but it can wear you out. I’d let this go for several weeks now and was sort of tired with all the catching up I’d done for the last hour.

Along with the usual cleaning, I also decided to do that Spring Cleaning, I skipped doing! I’m going to hate myself in the morning, I can tell already.

When my husband brings me the pressure washer, I’m elated that I get to blast the shit out of stuff with water, but appalled at the thought of how much my arms are going to hurt in the morning. I begin by washing down the walls, back corner, then out to the front corner. After that, I blast the roof where the spider webs are! If you are as arachnophobia prone as I am, you know that you would also back out closer to the door, one step at a time, while you blast away. Just so you don’t end up with an unhappy spider landing down your shirt…

 As I finish up the coop area, I move over to the nesting area where they work their magic laying eggs. It’s pretty dusty in there and thankfully the girls are finished laying. With the exception of one hen laying claim to that area, it’s free and clear. I move the grumpy broody hen out-of-the-way, for now. She officially hates me, at the moment… =/

I take down the nesting boxes which are held in place with Zip-Ties. I can always put them back when I’m done washing the area down.

When I do that, and move a bit of plastic which had fallen down on the floor, a passel (a bunch) of baby rats scrambled out of the area. They shot everywhere! Left, Right, Between my feet, Over my feet… It was pandemonium in that place!! About that time, the hens saw the scrambling baby rats and …. well…. Nature took it’s course…

I’d never seen so many chickens running around with rats for dinner in my life! It was disgusting, disturbing and fascinating! I didn’t want to watch, but like a soap-box show on TV, you just can’t miss what’s going on. I knew that chickens ate other critters. I’d seen them devour snakes, and kill other animals who had the distinct misfortune of finding their way in the coop; like a squirrel and a few birds, and random mice. I had never seen them GULP down a whole baby rat before. Kill something yes, but Eat it? Ick… Dear God. I was now damaged goods. You just can’t unsee some things…

With that said, I was totally fascinated with how they beat the snot out of them, then swallow them head-first. The fights that broke out in the coop, I was powerless to change, except maybe push them apart; which I did. I even moved some of the small dead rats into a hole so I could bury them, but the hens took them out before I could get the others collected.  I finally gave up and said, FINE! Eat Rat!  They did….

And they ate and ate and ate….  What they didn’t eat they left half dead, and I had to finish off the little rat babies.

Can you imagine what that did to me? Dear God, I wanted chickens but not this! Just one more thing “they” don’t tell you when you decide to have backyard chickens. You can read up on this, till the cows come home but you aren’t prepared for the real life with chickens (another blog of mine).

By now I’m pretty shell-shocked and just keep clicking photos, so you can live though my experiences. It’s not always easy, lemme tell ya! Below are more (yes graphic) photos of the hens enjoying Rat, a la carte’. This tiny New Hampshire Red pullet, is only 12 weeks old and she’s a master of killing and consuming baby rats. It’s kind of unnerving to think that I could be dinner as well, if I ever passed out in the coop. =/

 This young Red SexLink was one of the most persistent and aggressive. No sooner than I removed a rat from her, she found another one, or grabbed the one I had, back in her beak. She was so determined to eat it, I finally just gave it back to her, and grabbed my camera.

OK One More… Don’t say I didn’t warn you…   You just can’t Un-See some things… ♥The Chicken Mom♥

Time Out

Have you ever just needed “Time Out”, so you can collect your thoughts and have a moment’s peace and quiet? Yea, me too…

Time Out!

When my children were small, I’d run to the bathroom, and hide for a moment. Of course they know where I’m at, because they are banging on the door with hi-pitched yells of MOM!! MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!! MOMMY!! Oh God, I do not miss those days. My Mother said, “It’s payback time for all the ‘cut-short’ visits I had to make to the necessary room”. She’s likely right though. I did bang on the bathroom door yelling for her. I even remember, and that’s something for a tiny tot to still remember doing that. I must have been a ferocious little turd to raise.

Oh yes, Chickens! I’ve not forgotten, really. I’m getting there. So here it is.

Time Out, now means that I get to walk outside and go sit with the girls. Usually, I sit with the 15 new hens, who are now mature enough to lay eggs. They are still young enough to be curious about what I’m doing and they still like to be with people. I’m glad. My older ladies who are separated from the younger ladies aren’t really “into” body contact and they have mood swings. (laughing). They are old and grumpy. They aren’t much fun to sit with really. I talk to them and they look at me and I know they are just really saying, “Piss off”. Sigh…  Here’s a picture of the older ladies (Grumbles a Lot, Stupid Chicken, Sweetie, Boss Lady, Blackie, Top-hat, Mohawk, Soggy-bottom-girl, Crissy, Meanass, Pecky).

The Older Ladies

Now, my younger minions looooooooooove me. They come worship at my feet. I mean really… (OK, I’m having a bit of fun at your expense, but bear with me).

They usually follow me around wondering what I’m doing. I have to shoo them out-of-the-way; sometimes shoving them with the toe of my shoe. Falling face first down into a fresh pile of poop would be no fun. They do not understand this! (Yes, that’s the top of my head)

I call the ladies, “My Minions” or, “My adoring fans”. They know I love them dearly. Most of them want face kisses. Some just prefer to be left alone, and I respect that (mostly). Sometimes, I still grab them up and kiss the devil out of them and put them down. Sort of like you’d do with a rebellious kid. I only have a couple like that from the New Flock.

However, I never have to force Victoria into a lap-time hug. She just falls asleep.  She’s an Ameraucana. Such a lovely little lady who lays the prettiest blue-green eggs.

Lap-Time Nap with Victoria

As the girls grew up and became full-grown hens, I was afraid they would become cold and distant. So far, they have not. Actually, they seem to look forward to my visits and look up at me with such intensity that I wonder what they are trying to convey to me? Food? Likely… Chickens are quite food motivated. One of the ladies whose name is “Cleo”, short for Cleopatra, feels it her given right in the flock to groom me. Any freckle, any  bit of trash on my leg or do-dad that she deems edible she’s going to snag up. If it’s a mosquito, watch out! She’s going to snag that little bugger! I hardly know what she’s up to until I watch her. She can silent and painlessly pick off anything on my body. Amazing. Well, all except the freckles. She’s not been successful at that yet. Usually that ends poorly, and she’s learning that freckles are not meant for eating or picking off.  Photo below of Cleo!  Determined little face, huh?

Cuckoo Maran

Well, in closing here… It’s just my consensus that, to have a flock of chickens is therapy for Time Out. Usually about 3 in the afternoon the girls and I visit and we catch up on the day. Some just flop down on my foot and go to sleep. Others like to sit there and let me groom them. They love the little feathers in tender areas (rump) picked over. I don’t get very involved there, but I notice other hens do that to each other, so occasionally, I’ll reach around and tug on some of the fluffy feathers like I’m grabbing a bug. (Laughing again here) – They turn and see what I’m grabbing to eat. (Yea Right! Ha, ha! Not..) It is cute though.

♥Chicken Mom♥

 

Hug A Chicken!

If you’ve been reading my blog on a regular basis, you know that I have a new flock of birds which have been maturing and becoming egg laying miracles. They have gotten to know me and I’ve gotten to know them.

These  girls, are so affectionate and responsive. They just enjoy company and really like to sit and talk. Sometimes they talk the whole time you are sitting with them and others just sit passively on your lap and fall asleep, or rest. Then there’s “Little Owl”.I could actually write a book about Little Owl. She’s really funny. As a baby, when she’d find me sitting, she’d hop on my knee and dive under my armpit with her head and just sort of stay there, with her rump end exposed. It was always so darn funny. I never stopped her because she was so determined to do it. If I had on my jacket she’d just hop on my knee and dive right inside my coat flap, settle down and nap. Even now, I shake my head and laugh at the memory.

Little Owl

What Owl did, I never really understood. One day I happened on a video of a Mom hen and her group of babies. They were all happily pecking in the dirt around her, and when they saw something which startled them, they ran headlong into the Mom’s breast feathers found a way under and hid. Some even found a way under the wings and rump. One little Biddy didn’t make it under so far and all that you saw of her was a Rump poking out from under the hens wing. I started laughing so hard. That was exactly what Little Owl did! Oh God! I really was a Chicken Mom.

Little Owl is a big girl now, and she is one of my really good layers. She’s an Ameraucana who lays light aqua eggs. I always sort of dreaded her quitting the actions she use to do. They were so genuine and real that I didn’t want her to stop. I knew she saw me as “Mom” and she was coming to me for a rest and relaxation she couldn’t get otherwise.

I never had to worry about that. Little Owl still does the “Dive”. Here’s a photo of her heading for happy Lap Time.

Little Owl Running for Happy Lap time

And… Here’s the Dive!  I think she’s loves it as much as I do…

Happy Lap Time!

Have you Hugged Your Chicken Today? 🙂

Hug A Chicken!

 

♥Chicken Mom♥

Boo-Boo’s and Funky Stuff

Boo-Boo’s and Funky Stuff

This is Honey; the 10 lb cross-breed Buff Wyandotte, Copper Maran chicken.

In the photo Honey is standing in a huge 5 gallon pot. Yes, my sink is also huge. I had my hand gently on her back so she’d know I was there. The explosion of feathers, feet and claws I’d anticipated did not happen. 

She was quite calm, which is still something I am not use to. If a huge thing came and picked me up carried me into some weird enclosure, and plopped me down into a big pot of warm water, I’d come unglued. However, she didn’t, and I’ve seldom had any hen that did. I’ve had the girls for almost four years now. Still no real ambivilant behavior when I soak a hen in warm water.
I’m only guessing that it has something to do with sensory overload, so they just usually relax into a passive mass of fluff.

Honey was limping on a foot when I fed the ladies this morning. I picked her up and upon closer inspection I see she has a big black growth on the pad of her foot. It’s not swollen or puss filled, but it is most certainly a thick black scabby looking something stuck there.

I tentatively tug at it with my nail and see it’s attached onto the skin. Deciding it needs to come off I take Honey into the house for a good soaking in Epsom Salts and warm water. I took oodles of photos, but mostly because I thought she’d blow up…

I laid her on her back on a towel and was ready to cover her head, but of course I snapped a picture of her on her back first. Then covered her head so she’d relax as I worked on her foot.

I hate to show you her foot but here’s the picture.
This condition is called (in the chicken forums) Bumble Foot. Some of the situations are way worse than this, with puss filled pockets. Honey’s was not that bad.

After a long soaking of about 20 minutes I gently pried off the scab. It took a bit of doing, and it did bleed a little bit, but she is no worse for wear. It stopped soon after I took it off.

I cleaned it off with Betadine and then used a good topical antibacterial dressing. The kind which does not have any pain additives. Analgesics are bad for chickens. After this I wrapped her foot with Vet Wrap and put her in a private recovery area so others wouldn’t peck at her wrapper.

The prognosis is good. She stayed in the enclosure a few days and she’s not limping anymore. The bandages came off and the old wound area looks clean and closed up neatly. Now she gets to go play with her other friends.
I can’t help but wonder what in the world is going to happen next…

Here’s a picture of Honey’s Eggs. I love how different they are each day. Sometimes almost copper and other days a more natural brown egg color. I actually dated each one as they were laid, so I could take note of the daily color changes.

I call eggs “Magic”… They are Amazing!

Dyslexic Roosters

When I walk out the door in the morning, I am assaulted with the neighborhood roosters and their loud greetings of the new day. Our neighborhood is more or less rural-suburbia, with folks having one or two acre lots. On those lots they can have chickens or horses or cows, and god knows what else…  I guess most of my neighbors have chickens and choose to keep roosters. I on the other hand, I choose to not have roosters. They are beautiful, I admire them, and that’s where the attraction stops; and after concerned painstaking effort on my part to choose chicks which were hopefully female, I ended up with FIVE beautiful Roosters and Nine hens. I was awaken one morning with a horrific squalling, squealing, and hooting weirdness coming from the direction of the chicken yard. Stumbling to the door I peered outside in that general area and proudly attempting to crow was one of the new pullets. You could hear him trying to form a crow but the noise was a pitiful example of crowing. Continue this progressive morning scenario for two weeks: The family who lives the next road over must have several roosters, and I watch the little gray one I have listen closely as they one after the other, crow with a vengeance. Then he begins to attempt a mimic of their crowing. Except his crow was totally backwards… I was hoping and praying this was just an overly testosterone laden female crowing (they occasionally will attempt to mimic). The days following however, proved me wrong. Dayam!  The little Gray Roo pullet who is attempting to crow is a Blue Ameraucana (Not really blue). Here’s a photo of a Blue Pullet.

http://www.backyardchickens.com / Without their help, I’d never have gotten through my first set of babies. Wonderful site! I highly recommend it.

Most chickens when they crow make a Urt Urt Urt Urrrrrr sound. This little dude hit notes nothing like that. I busted out laughing… Ouuuuu-Urrrrr-Urt-Urt-Urttttt!  Ouuuuu- Urrrrr-Urt-Urt-Urt!  I could see him with a face which said, “No that’s not quite right”!  He kept practicing and practicing, his face contorted with the effort. He even bent his neck sideways trying to squeeze the vocalizations just right.  This kept up for about two weeks. Then suddenly another one popped out with a tentative crow. Oh God…. More Roosters! That week and the week that followed I counted a total of FIVE Roosters! They were promptly packed up and driven back to the breeder who guaranteed that they would be hens. If I ended up with any Roos’ he’d take them back. He was good to his word, but he was really surprised that his method of sexing them had failed so badly. I told him that the Blue Ameraucana crowed backwards.  He figured they just had baby crows and had not quite got the crowing down yet. Then as I stood there talking to him, the Blue let out a healthy, Ouuuuu-Urrrrr-Urt-Urt-Urt! The man turned quickly at watched him let out another Dyslexic Crow and he laughed saying, “Well I’ll be Dang” The little guy does crow backwards!”. Skip (the chicken guy), ended up showing him with the 4H kids.  I wonder how a Dyslexic Rooster fared out with the 4H judging? The Chicken Mama

One of the Girls

Do you ever get to the point that your chickens think maybe you are just one of the more heavy-set girls in the flock?  I think mine are getting that way with me. If I grow feathers, someone call the doctor!

Lately, I’ve been about living in the chicken yard, fixing this and moving that. Then starting new projects and working on stuff, bustling around, trying not to step on birds.

The mulch piles are in the chicken yard. That means repeat trips to drop in compostable items. They ladies are somewhat disappointed when I drop the bucket of stuff overboard in the mulch area. I can almost see them pout. Of course I keep some prize tidbits for them and that seems to redeem me in their eyes.

My decision to place work areas inside the chicken yard, was as much for me as it was for them. With me alongside them so much of the time, behavior and health issues are quickly noticed. Today Flakey, a lovely fat White Orpington had wet bottom. I don’t know what happened there, except maybe I over did the scraps yesterday…  Her vent was pretty messy.

Flakey Makes Me Laugh

She seems to hang around my feet a good bit, so I picked her up and looked at it. Hum… Nothing obviously wrong there. So, I went ahead and took the hose to her bottom. Sounds sort of harsh, but the weather has been very warm here; she got a nice warm spray bath on her bottom end. Nice and clean now, so I dried it off a bit. Then of course she heads right into the dust bath area and fluffs up.  Now she looks like a mucky-butt bottomed, mud-encrusted hen.  Oh well, I figure she’ll dry off and that stuff will go with it when it does dry (crossing fingers).

Do your hens move out of your way when you work? I’m wondering if these are normal birds at this point. A few of them I totally have to dodge! Some of the chickens, I have to down-right bend over and pick up, then move them over. They just don’t get it.  I have about six out there who feel it their god given right, to be under my feet.

Today I put in a small garden area. Yes, in the chicken yard. Why not? The mulch piles are in there, so is the ready compost pile. It stands to reason that the  garden spot should also be in there too. I really didn’t want to plant much this year. Just a few tomatoes, cucumbers and whatever else I use in the salads. Fresh salad greens sound lovely.

Future Garden

Smart chickens should feel threatened by the tiller so loudly moving the earth, but my really spoiled girls are just wondering what the heck that big “snoring machine” is? They (even with that thing) are dangerously curious, so I shoo them into the hen-house and shut the door. It’s quite large so there’s plenty of room, but they are not happy with me. I could hear Maw’s protests from inside. She’s livid. How dare I shut her inside. She wants so badly to dig into the newly tilled soil and find grubs.  I’m such a naughty Mom…

This is Maw. She wants me Dead

However, it’s going to be in the 20s by beginning of next week, and here it is March 1st! So much for that planting situation I had been dreaming of.  Inside my house sitting in tubs waiting on the weather to decide what it is doing, are two Satuma Citrus Trees, and One nicely growing Concord Grape Vine. I’ll wait on buying the tomato plants. I could start them now in a seed planter, but I have no room in the house for flats of germinating seeds.The new area has 8 feet walled fencing. Mostly because of Victoria who can jump 4.50 feet, standing flat-footed. Ask me how I know. She clears my yard fencing, which is that tall. Now, with that resolved and hoping she does not scale this fence, I hopefully will have a nice little garden patch in a few weeks.

Oh well, when this cold mess passes you can envision me in the nice fenced in planting area of the chicken yard, putting down tomatoes, cucumber, green peppers and a few squash plants. I’m excited about the prospect! With all the composed chicken poop anyone could want… If anyone would have told me that chicken poop would make me smile ear-to-ear, I’d have laughed them out of the house.

The Chicken Mama